Are You Coming Back to the Tree?
Dystopian fiction dominated the 2010s: from Divergent to The Maze Runner, the books, movies, and soundtracks of young adult franchises seemed to consume every outlet of entertainment. Yet, nothing quite satisfied the YA dystopian quench like The Hunger Games— Suzanne Collins’ trilogy, which follows teenager Katniss Everdeen through the politically turbulent times of Panem. Though it seems like we were sporting the iconic Katniss side-braid and Mockingjay pins just yesterday, the beloved billion-dollar franchise starring Jennifer Lawrence celebrated its 11th anniversary this past month. Netflix housed all 4 movies for a 31-day window, prompting longtime fans to stream the series before it left the site. Consequently, all 4 movies quickly charted on Netflix’s Top 10 most watched films in the U.S., resurrecting a Hunger Games renaissance.
The short-term window functioned as a savvy effort to gain traction for the franchise’s new prequel, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, set to premiere this November. Buzz for the series caught like wildfire, and perhaps most importantly, ignited the TikTok flame. One of the most effective and efficient marketing tools, TikTok instantaneously propelled the franchise back into the lives of retired fans, including myself. I think I have come across at least 50 edits of Peeta Mellark (no complaints there), and thanks to users like @luckylefty, I engaged with thoughtful analysis of the book and movies. The discourse surrounding The Hunger Games completely saturated my “for you” page, even intersecting with my other niche interests; I chuckled at videos of RuPaul's Drag Racers assigned to different districts and edits of “fallen tributes,” or already performed Taylor Swift surprise songs on the Eras Tour. What started as a simple marketing gimmick turned into a complete overhaul of the media I consumed—I even picked up the novels from my childhood home to reread.
Revisiting the revolutionary tales of Panem as an adult is quite a different literary experience than as a child; for one, I catch much more of Collins’ critiques of contemporary society, elements that flew over my head as a young reader. I think young-adult fiction can be easily overlooked as a serious genre, yet analyzing the novel after a decade-long hiatus proves enlightening. Not only was I able to digest and internalize more of the content, I also reflected on myself as a reader, seeing how my early readings influenced my consumption habits. For one, I remember sneakily hiding beneath covers to indulge in my books late at night—still, I love reading The New Yorker essays or finishing my crosswords at forbidden hours of darkness. In rediscovering old YA fiction, I was able to momentarily relive the magic of childhood reading—something that quickly becomes a chore with age. We know how powerful nostalgia can be, like the way Stranger Things elicited an 80s-style revival, or how millennials never quite stop talking about AOL or the Spice Girls. Yet, is it too soon to revisit trends only years later?
The internet has revved trend cycles to scarily speedy paces. Already, we long for the nostalgia of the magical “VSCO girl summer of 2019” or “2020 lockdown core.” Clothing trends accelerated from years-long cycles to just weeks, memes last only days. Transient popularity moves too swiftly to pinpoint anything of meaning. With this new pace of fads, how should authors who spend years developing novels adjust? Will the value of extensive literary content be cheapened to follow fads? Moreover, do we lose the meaning of nostalgia when we look at a past that is only moments behind? There is value in celebrating childhood and history—to appreciate life, to learn from mistakes, to see growth. I fear that lessening the time frames of nostalgia misconstrues the clarity we gain from distance, leaving us without ample time to digest, to breathe. It is hard to look back and see the whole picture when it sits so close to us. With a culture that is becoming increasingly congested with media, we must relish in empty space.
While I do appreciate the recent Hunger Games renaissance, I become worried at the seemingly closing gap between a nostalgic past and the present day. Though a decade seems like ample time before revisitation, I sense that the gap is closing in, and soon enough we will be longing for recent times.
